


Hell's Bike Messenger

by ScatteredWords



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Human Carmilla Karnstein, Season 3 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScatteredWords/pseuds/ScatteredWords
Summary: A lighter companion to Picking Up the Pieces. Professor Hollis' girlfriend is a bike messenger. Don't question it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this headcanon at 2 AM. I have no other explanation.

There are two rules one learns in the first week with Professor Hollis.

1\. Late papers will be marked down a letter grade each day unless an extension has been granted.

2\. Professor Hollis’ girlfriend is a bike messenger.

Do not refer to her as anything else. She’s a bike messenger, no matter how much evidence you see to the contrary. She will only ever answer inquiries with “I’m a bike messenger, kid.”

She’s a bike messenger even when she greets Professor Hollis after class with a latte, a kiss, and the distinct smell of smoke. A security minion announces over the crackling loudspeaker that the owner of the black Ducati needs to move it out of the staff parking lot and also put out the fire. Professor Hollis raises an eyebrow.

“It’s on fire, Carm? Really?”

“You’re the one who sent me to Paris, cupcake.”

“Yeah, to help the Order kill that thing, not to-”

They notice you listening and glare pointedly in your direction. You cough, zip up your backpack, and head off to your next class.

She’s a bike messenger even when Professor Hollis gets a papercut stacking your exams at the end of class and she licks it. You blink, making sure you really saw what you thought you saw. Nope, there it is. Her tongue distinctly flicks out and laps up the bright red droplet from your teacher’s finger. Frozen near the front of the class, you hear Professor Hollis whisper, “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I haven’t had any in weeks. Only ever from you or me, you know that.” She smiles, staring at her girlfriend as if nothing else exists in the world. “Damn blood-borne pathogens.”  
That time you don’t have to be reminded. You scurry out of the classroom as quickly and quietly as possible.

She’s a bike messenger even the day she subs in, probably due to the same lax policies that got 24-year-old Professor Hollis her position in the first place. Any questions receive the curtest of answers, she pronounces poor Johann Schlemp’s analysis of The Pickwick Papers “extremely juvenile at best,” and caps the whole thing off by saying that Dickens was a hack anyway and had appalling table manners besides. Someone has the nerve to ask how she knows and she levelly replies that she met him. Three times.

Some students- the lucky ones, you think –scoff. Others, who’ve had a more typical Silas experience, turn pale but don’t look surprised.

She’s a bike messenger the day you finally ask, “Are you a vampire?” and she stares at you for a long, uncomfortable second before replying, “I’m exploring other options at the moment.”

At this point, the only thing that would surprise you is seeing her actually deliver a message.


End file.
